


He'll Never Love You (Like Me)

by mischieviolet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Harry, Come Eating, Come Shot, Happy Ending, Jealous Draco Malfoy, M/M, Minister of Magic Harry, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Top Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 09:57:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14186397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischieviolet/pseuds/mischieviolet
Summary: It isn't a relationship, it's a convenience.At least that is what he convinced himself of until his treacherous heart decided he couldn't bear seeing another article in the Prophet about how breathtaking the Minister looked last night at the Gala dancing in the arms of some foreign dignitary. In the arms of another man.





	He'll Never Love You (Like Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2018 Draco tops Harry fest!
> 
> Thank you **dexter101** for your lovely prompt which got me out of my Drarry funk. I feel this was just a good excuse for me to write some self-indulgent pining!jealous!possessive!Draco and porn - I hope I do your prompt justice. 
> 
> Mods - you are simply divine, thank you for the many extensions and dealing with my due date freak outs. 
> 
> Thank you to Miss D for my beta - any mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Hayley Kiyoko was on repeat as I thought and wrote about this - the title comes from her song of the same name.
> 
> Enjoy! x

He'd always thought of Harry as beautiful. Breathtaking, even. Whether it was on a broom, chewing on his quill whilst tugging at his badly done up Gryffindor tie, and even – at press conferences, in The Daily Prophet, or working a room with a glass of Champagne in hand and a faint blush brushed across his cheeks. His treacherous heart had often agreed.

He’d spotted Draco and winked, grinning broadly and raising his Champagne glass. The edges of Draco’s mouth threatened to lift as he raised his own glass back at Harry, distracted away from the conversation with a fellow colleague. He hid his smile behind his flute as he heard Harry’s loud laugh as someone seized his hand and shook it in earnest.

The results were in: Harry had been elected Minister of Magic, the youngest ever, the fifth ex-Auror to take office. He didn’t know why Harry had looked so relieved – like the people of Britain would have wanted anyone else leading them, really. But it had been a long and stressful campaign, Draco had been personally chosen by Harry to work with his team. Now, Draco continued to watch him accept many congratulatory handshakes and pats on the back, downing many glasses of Champagne, the servers eager and willing to keep his glass topped up to the brim.

He’d noticed that his colleague’s conversation had faltered, and Draco looked back to notice a questioning look on his face, eyebrow arching. Draco schooled his expression quickly; removing the look of fondness into one of indifference. It wouldn’t do to help start rumours of a relationship between them.

After all, they didn’t have a relationship; what they had was convenience.

Harry was beautiful. Harry was breathtaking. But Harry was meant for someone who wasn’t Draco. He was unattainable – to Draco anyway. He gave his time and attention to Draco in secret, and Draco took what he was given. The British people wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to lead their country, but they’d certainly want someone else as their Minister’s boyfriend, Draco was certain. He’d convinced himself long ago that they wouldn’t have worked anyway; their chemistry strictly limited to underneath the sheets. 

One minute they had a tentative friendship, suddenly seeing a lot more of each other as their friendship groups, approaching their thirties, merged. They were used to working together, especially when Harry worked on cases which required someone from Magical Law.  There was an undeniable attraction, an unmistakable pull. There always had been.  But now there was lingering gazes, appreciative glances, banter.

The convenience had begun a couple of months ago in a blur of red wine and cigarette smoke. It had been a drunken night, someone’s engagement party, where everyone else seemed to be paired off and where they’d indulged in too much free wine. Harry had looked irresistible in a cream tight fitting jumper and dark jeans. He’d only recently announced his intention to run for Minister and had only just appointed Draco to help him in an advisory role – his years of working abroad within the different Ministries a vital resource to Harry, who sought new networks and Draco’s expertise in Magical Law. Riding on enthusiasm and excitement, Harry and his team had gotten to work on his campaign. Draco and Harry had then had been spending many a night together long after the rest of Harry’s campaign team had left; sharing tea and wine and curry dinners and coy smiles, accidental brushes of fingertips as they reached for another policy on parchment. It had been building to something that Draco couldn’t quite figure out.

He’d escaped to the courtyard of Blaise’s townhouse, ignoring his friend’s eye roll as he reached for his silver packet of cigarettes and a bottle of red with his glass and escaping, pulling his sleeves down to ward against the chill. Harry had already been outside, hands shoved into his pockets, and was looking up - Draco assumed he was watching the dark clouds rolling in. As Draco passed him, ignoring the clenching of his stomach that only every happened around Harry, he noticed that Harry was slightly flushed, eyes closed in the direction of the sky. He perched himself on the edge of a raised garden bed and lit his cigarette, the smell of the smoke jostled Harry from his thoughts. He peered down at Draco with an eyebrow raised.

“You know those things can kill you,” He said, a smirk playing around the corners of his mouth. Draco rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to flick the ash his way.

“Public service announcement from the new Minister?” Draco replied, arching an eyebrow of his own and then purposely taking a long drag of the offending cigarette. “You get this delightful telling flush when you drink too much red wine, by the way.”

Harry laughed, moving to join Draco where he was perched and noticing the bottle of red that Draco had bought out with him. “Not sure that sort of advice is what I hired you for, Draco.”

“No, that sort of advice I give for free,” He said smiling, reaching down to grab the bottle of red and unscrewing the cap to refill his glass. He handed it to Harry to drink from first. “Having a moment out here?”

“Mmmm,” Harry said swallowing his mouthful of red. “Something like that. Enjoying the wine buzz and the quiet before the craziness the next few weeks…”

“I still don’t know why you would want that job… I thought you were happy with the Auror Department?” Draco accepted the wine glass back from Harry. He had heard Shacklebolt had tapped Harry on the shoulder as he announced his retirement.

“The Auror Department, yes. The rest of the Ministry – not so much. And you know what they say – if you want something done, do it yourself.”

“Granger convinced you, didn’t she?” Draco said, glancing back inside where Hermione was talking animatedly to Blaise about something, Ron taking the wine glass out of her hands as she used them to talk animatedly. Harry followed his gaze and laughed again.

“A few people gave me their two cents, yes.”

“So, what will you revolutionise first?” Draco said, busying himself with looking for a place to discard his cigarette, finding an empty plant pot nearby. He felt Harry scoot a little closer to him, the sudden warmth at his side a comfort. He watched as Harry tapped his chin in mock thought.

“International Magical Office of Law, I think,” He said, winking awfully in Draco’s direction. “I need to do something about those snarky blonde lawyers who serve to be a pain in my arse.”

Draco shoved him, satisfied when he was unbalanced and slipped slightly off the edge of the wall. He had to look away when Harry brushed dirt off his arse, hands brushing against very tight denim, before taking a seat again. “I’ll go back to working for the French Ministry once you’ve won and some other poor Lawyer can ride your arse about correct policy.”

“I’d rather it was you riding it, to be honest.”

Draco moved to shove him off the wall again but faltered at the way Harry was looking at him. The innuendo wasn't lost on him - he'd been dreaming about doing it for weeks, bending Harry over in the Head Auror's office. He felt the unmistakable frisson of excitement, a pooling of heat in his stomach – the same feeling he’d felt during their many late-night sessions, their new found friendship.

“Is that an invitation?” He said thickly, looking Harry in the eye, unsure of where this boldness was coming from, obviously a side effect of hanging around too many Gryffindors. He was curious to see if this thing they had building between them was what he thought it was: Longing, desire, curiosity.

He was aware of Harry searching his face, a slight smile on his own. “If you like.” He stood and moved to go back inside, as if suddenly shy. “I’m not doing anything after this…”

He stood, grabbing Harry’s hand before he re-joined the group. Most had moved back to Blaise’s lounge and the roaring fire, some still lingered in his kitchen. He licked his lips, delighted when he saw Harry’s eyes follow his tongue: it had been building to this. He stepped closer, moving to kiss Harry when he suddenly jerked back, glancing over his shoulder.

“Not here,” He said, quietly. He turned back to Draco and Draco noticed his flush deepen. “They’ll-”

 _Not approve. Judge. Wouldn’t want us together._ It went unspoken, but Draco could read between Harry’s lines.

It stung like an unwanted hex against his skin. But it was expected. He cut Harry off, not wanting to hear his fears confirmed. “It’s fine, Potter. It can be our secret.”

It had indeed been their secret. He had Apparated to Grimmauld Place once the party had wound up, Harry leaving sometime before him. They’d fucked, twice. And in the morning he had left after an awkward cup of coffee and avoiding each other’s eyes. Then it had happened again, in Harry’s office after arguing about the wording on a new policy. Again, after Pansy’s surprise birthday dinner Draco had held at his place. It had been going on for weeks, this secret relationship.

But it wasn’t a relationship. It was convenience, Draco had worked hard to convince himself of that. He’s told himself he travelled too much with his work to have something steady. He was too prickly and difficult, too fussy to start something with someone, although he hadn’t been short on prospects. He told himself Harry was certainly too busy for a relationship and needed someone who wouldn’t run to the Prophet to sell his dirty secrets to tumble into bed with. Draco was that. And Draco was there. Draco was trustworthy in that regard – who would believe him?

He’d worked hard to build a name on his own, to forge a new identity post-war. People weren’t nasty to him, in fact his colleagues quite respected him. He’d earnt himself a good reputation for once: he was good at what he did, he’d won Harry’s favour, a place on his team. If only they knew how he was also good at completely undoing their new Minister – he knew exactly how to angle his hips to render him incoherent. He knew he loved being pushed up against walls, mouth ravished. He knew he liked it rough and quick as well as slow and sloppy and lazy. He didn’t want it assumed he’d fucked his way to the top after all so a secret he could keep this. _It’s just fucking_ had become his mantra, especially every time he watched Harry leave. He was mixing business and pleasure.

Now they were celebrating his win, the Ministry buzzing with energy with the unmistakable sound of champagne bottles popping, enthusiastic chatter. Draco was drawn back to the present by another colleague joining his side, sharing in the mood of the moment. He made sure to not stare at Harry longer than necessary, lest he draw suspicion, but he was so keenly aware of Harry’s presence to let him fully out of his sight. Eventually the impromptu party disbanded, it was a Monday after all, and Draco suddenly realised (caught up in discussion with Granger over some French Ministry gossip she wanted clarified) that Harry had also left.

“I think he’s in his office,” Granger said slowly, placing her glass on a tray floating by, watching Draco look around for Harry. “I’d like to say he’s getting a head start on tomorrow’s press conference, but he and Ron are probably up to no good.”

Draco scoffed in agreement, but soon saw Weasley chatting to another Auror.

He left to find Harry indeed in the Minister of Magic’s office, contemplative in his winged-back chair. He took a few moments to savour his quiet surveillance of Harry: he couldn’t squash the feeling of pride he had seeing him in that chair, the feeling of lo – Draco stopped himself there.

“Having a moment?” Draco said, stepping into the well-decorated room.

“Something like that,” Harry smiled, hopefully remembering the last time Draco had caught him having a moment, and what had transpired. “Close the door behind you.”

Crossing the room in a few quick strides, Harry had Draco pressed up against the door, wand in hand locking and silencing the room with a few quick spells. “Feel like celebrating?”

He looked up at Draco, their height difference obvious in this position, and Draco smirked down at him before flipping their positions. “I don’t know… I heard the new Minister is looking to revamp the Magical Law Department… I should probably get to work, prove myself…”

“I can think of some ways you can do that…” Harry said, reaching behind Draco’s head to play with the hair at the base of his neck before drawing him down for a kiss. Draco could taste the tang of the expensive Champagne on his lips and was thirsty for more, his tongue seeking entrance to Harry’s mouth. The fingers in his hair tightened as Harry opened his mouth, tongue meeting Draco’s. Draco gripped Harry’s hips, pushing a leg in between Harry’s, feeling his hardness hot against his thigh. He moved his hands from Harry’s hips to cup his face, tilting his head back to deepen their kiss. He felt Harry’s hands come up to grip his wrists lightly, and a shudder rippling through Harry’s body, which Draco savoured. 

Their kiss was slow, Draco’s lips burning with their purpose: to keep Harry flush against his body, shuddering with the pleasure he was giving him, to forget the people still in the Ministry, the people they were hiding this from. In this moment, Harry was his.

“Minister Potter?”

The timid unknown voice on the other side of the door had them breaking apart hastily, and Harry sighed, his grip on Draco’s tightening before Draco could pull away completely.

“See you at my place?”

Draco responded by brushing his thumbs across Harry’s cheeks, brushing the stubble there. He stole a brief kiss before making his way toward Harry’s fireplace, their secret guarded.

* * *

 

The articles starting appearing a few weeks after Harry had been elected.

 The Daily Prophet, obviously bored with running articles on Harry’s new policies, Ministry Reforms and formal meetings with other Ministers, had set their Social Journalists on speculating how Harry would redecorate the Minister’s Office, and then, his love life.

The first time he had seen such article had been during brunch with Pansy and Blaise, the copy of the Prophet handed to Blaise by a house elf. Draco caught the headline **A ROMAN RENDEZVOUS: STRICTLY BUSINESS FOR MINISTER POTTER IN ROME?** and felt his fingers tighten around the coffee cup Pansy had just passed him. The picture accompanying the article showed Harry being led out of a restaurant by Jovan De Santis, Head of the DMLE equivalent in Rome. He had met Jovan a number of times, as had Harry. He was older by a good five years, came from a good family, was good at his job and a rumoured playboy. As far as he knew, Harry had never expressed interest in Jovan over the many years they had liaised when Harry was Head Auror… Draco quickly glanced back at the photo of Harry and Jovan impeccably dressed in tailored suits, Jovan’s hand obviously resting on the small of Harry’s back…Draco swallowed his mouthful of coffee forcefully, hoping the feeling of rising bile would be forced down, as well as the feeling of emerging jealousy. He surely had no right to feel ill about seeing Harry with another man. No, this feeling was purely a side-effect of too many red wines the night before.

“Our Minister looks like he was well taken care of in Rome…” Pansy said and Draco side-eyed her, watching as she hid a smirk behind her cup. Draco had a feeling she had caught him glancing at the Prophet not once but twice. And he thought he had been subtle.

He shrugged nonchalantly, hoping he had feigned indifference. “De Santi’s not Harry’s type.”

“Harry’s?” Pansy said, eyebrows shooting upward at the same time Blaise stopped buttering his croissant to say “Oh?”

He swore internally, grabbing for his case of cigarettes and retreating to Blaise’s courtyard. They had been kind not to press further, and Draco ignored Pansy’s knowing looks.

The second article had Draco’s blood boiling – a feeling that had flared in the pit of Draco’s stomach as unmistakable anger and of something unfamiliar. Draco had been in Paris for work, Harry had been on a formal visit to the French Ministry, and they had caught up for breakfast with a colleague of Draco’s, Henri – the Prophet had snapped Henri and Harry, Draco conveniently omitted. **CLOSE COFFEE CHATS: MINISTER POTTER TAKEN OUT FOR INTIMATE BRUNCH.**

That particular headline had left Draco with a compulsion to mark Harry, leaving a spectacular love-bite in between Harry’s shoulder blades as they fucked the next day in Harry’s suite. He felt consumed and overwhelmed with the desire to shout from the rooftops that the only person that was close, that was intimate, that mixed business and pleasure with Harry was _him_. Brunch had been with _him,_ Henri had been invited by _him_. Shouting from the rooftops was not in the offing to Draco, but completely owning Harry in bed was. He had kept one hand on Harry’s hip, in a punishing grip he was sure was going to leave bruises, and one in-between Harry’s shoulders, pinning him to the bed, his cock pounding into Harry, unrelenting in his momentum.

He only hoped Harry didn’t cotton on to his jealousy, Draco felt the impulse to keep Harry so satisfied that he wouldn’t need anyone else. Their relationship didn’t – couldn’t invite questioning. It was convenience for Harry. It wasn’t Harry’s fault he had willingly entered this with feelings towards him. Make love, but don’t fall in love? This was a conversation they had never shared.

 The piece de resistance came a couple of weeks later after the Ministry Gala, celebrating the commencement of Harry’s position as Minister. Draco had been there, albeit briefly, an early morning Portkey scheduled for Rome to begin work on a case he had specifically been requested on, where he’d have to work with fucking Jovan De Santis – at least he could look him in the eye knowing he’d had Harry writhing underneath him many times since their last meeting. He’d been at the Gala long enough to see Harry, who had looked enticing and exquisite in midnight blue dress robes. He’d been there long enough to feel the familiar pull towards Harry – to be captivated by his presence and beauty, to want to stride across the dance floor and give in to the carnal, animalistic desire to claim Harry in front of everyone, to declare them a secret no longer.

Instead, he tried desperately hard to ignore his heart-ache, his voracity, and indulged in a few glasses of Champagne in Harry’s honour, mingled with their colleagues and kissed Harry on the cheek in congratulations before leaving for Rome. He had surely misread the heated look Harry had given him on his retreat… Draco wouldn’t be missed by the constantly sought-after Minister at his own Gala.

He’d returned home from Rome a few days later, his shoulders tight with the tension of travelling and negotiating with Italian Aurors and Lawyers. He’d been looking forward to a few glasses of red, a bath and perhaps a visit from Harry…His house elf had lit the fire before his return, the room warm and inviting, the cackling of logs soothing.

Pouring himself a glass of wine, he moved to sort through the collection of mail his house elf had collected and sorted, flicking through parchment envelops for anything urgent, then unfolding a copy of The Daily Prophet.

The wine glass in his hand shattered, Draco had recognised the pulse of anger, of uncontrollable magic too late. Ignoring it, Draco shook off the red wine that had drenched his stinging hand and blazer and grabbed at the paper, shaking it out furiously to see the article in full.

  **SPARKS FLY AT MINISTRY GALA: LANDENBERGER CAPTURES MINISTER’S ATTENTION**

_The Minister looked breathtaking in robes of indigo as he celebrated his victory with colleagues, friends and international guests. Minister Potter looked smitten as he danced with the handsome Julian Landenberger, Swiss Ministry Ambassador. The two were then inseparable for the remainder of the Gala. Could the Swiss be the one? More details page 8._

Draco’s eyes hungrily took in the image of Harry and Landenberger with morbid curiousity, black and white and on repeat to taunt Draco. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest, the familiar ache that he associated with Harry. They were laughing, and the Prophet photographer had snapped the exact moment when Landenberger had pulled Harry closer to him, hand curling on his waist.

He realised with disdain that Harry did look smitten. He looked comfortable. He looked happy. He had misread the look Harry gave Draco on his retreat from the Gala. Was the Prophet right – did Harry want more with Julian? Had he had enough of their undercover loving, of hiding Draco when the Prophet so clearly wanted to celebrate Julian, celebrate them?

He threw the Prophet across the room towards the fireplace and watched as the latest article on Harry burnt, but it did nothing to ease the feeling in his heart. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t care anymore. He couldn’t pretend that it wouldn’t completely ruin him if Harry decided to end their secret games.

The Muggle mobile he had conceded to get for social purposes, and for really the sole purpose of contacting Harry to meet up without worrying about intercepted owls, or who could be listening in to Firecalls, chose that moment to vibrate in the breast pocket of his blazer.

He retrieved it with shaking hands, and cursed Merlin at the name and message which appeared.

 

_Harry < Are you back from Rome? _

_Draco > Yes. Come over. _

He had typed the message and sent it before thinking, raging internally. He needed to see Harry, to kiss him and mark him and take him, even if it was for the last time. He needed to hear it from Harry’s own mouth, not the Prophet, that he was serious about Julian, that he wanted their games to finish. He leant forward against his breakfast bar, head bowed and trying to control the wild beating of his heart, the anger and the fear that was coursing through him at the prospect that someone else now had Harry. That someone else had had what belonged to him.

The crack of Apparition startled him briefly, and he looked up and around to see Harry land in his living room, dressed casually and as enticing to Draco as ever. He felt rooted to the spot, and tried to control his breathing before Harry noticed how off kilter he was – before he left, deciding this wasn’t what he signed up for.

He could do this. He could fuck Harry one more time, the last time. He’d ask for a secondment to France until he could get Harry out of his system, until he could get used to seeing Harry with someone else.

He heard Harry make his way towards him, and the minute Harry’s lips touched the back of neck, a hand curling around Draco’s ribs and the other resting on his hand on the breakfast bar, Draco choked. He would never get used to seeing Harry with someone else.

Harry’s mouth felt wet and sinful on the skin on his neck, settling it a-blaze with open mouthed kisses. His hand that was resting on Draco’s traced the outline of his fingertips, the movement stalling abruptly, as did the kisses.

Harry pulled away and stepped to the side of Draco, looking down at his wine-drenched blazer sleeve, his pale skin stained with the burgundy of the Malbec.

“Draco?” He lifted the hand up to inspect the damage, and Draco avoided his eyes, moving to pull him arm away from Harry. “Is this wine? Actually, that’s blood – what happened?”

Harry’s eyes landed on the scattered pieces of the wine glass that crunched under their feet. He raised an eyebrow at Draco, green eyes questioning, concerned.

Draco turned his head to look at Harry fully, relishing in his presence. The all-consuming feeling to possess him was back. He took in Harry’s concerned expression, the rolled-up sleeves of his jumper exposing forearms that Draco wanted to grip, to bruise, to remove any trace of Julian. Harry then moved his hand lazily, using Wandless magic to remove the mess of the broken wine glass, stepping into Draco’s space and reaching out to him.

“Draco. Are you okay? What’s happened?” His tone was worried. He couldn’t blame Harry for being concerned – he was acting like a madman, standing in the mess of his uncontrollable magic, trying to get his breathing, _his feelings_ , under control _._ Harry worked his bottom lip between his teeth, waiting. At the sight of him biting his lip, Draco snapped.

“No, I’m not okay,” Draco said thickly, surging forward to cup Harry’s face, pulling him to his chest, his lips crashing against Harry’s and knocking his glasses askew – he removed them and tossed them toward the direction of the bar. “You are what happened.”

Harry opened his mouth to question and Draco used that to his advantage, biting down hard on the lip that Harry had just been worrying, then soothing the bite by tracing it with his tongue, before pushing it into Harry’s searing mouth. Harry’s tongue met Draco’s, coaxing it to explore his mouth further. Draco moved his fingers to bury them Harry’s hair, tilting his head to gain further access, kissing him deeply until he had Harry gasping, breaking away from Draco short of breath. His pupils were blown wide, lips swollen from Draco’s impassioned kiss. Draco heard himself groan at the image – _he_ did that to Harry.

He surged forward to kiss and nip and Harry’s jaw, Harry’s hands grabbing fistfuls of Draco’s blazer lapels to tug him closer as Draco mouthed a sensitive spot on his exposed throat. Harry moved backward, tugging Draco with him and they hit the wall behind them with a thud. Draco’s fingers were still tangled in Harry’s hair, he pulled slightly and Harry allowed him to tilt his head to the side, the new angle making it easier to Draco attack his throat, alternating between licks, kisses and bites. He could see that he was marking Harry’s neck, littering it with red marks, this only serving to encourage the primal part of Draco that had taken over to bite down, sucking hard against the golden skin of Harry’s throat. Let Julian, let the Prophet, let everyone they knew see it and know he put it there.

He grabbed at Harry’s jumper, pulling it over his head roughly and mussing his hair, glad that he had already removed his glasses, then let Harry push his ruined blazer off his shoulders and then reach down to remove his shirt. Raking his nails down Harry’s side, he stood relishing in the way that Harry’s back arched, his hardness brushing against Draco’s and causing them both to cry out. He moved forward to once again capture Harry’s lips in a messy kiss, their bare chests making contact, skin smouldering. His lips made a blazing trail down Harry’s neck as he moved to bite his collarbone, before kissing and licking towards his chest. His tongue explored the vast amount of skin available to him now that he had removed Harry’s jumper, his hands gripping Harry’s hips tightly. He licked languidly across hard muscle, before reaching the mound of Harry’s right nipple, flicking it with his tongue before taking it into his mouth, sucking gently. He could hear Harry’s breathing shallow, feel his fingers try tangle in the shaven hair of his undercut at the base of his head, hips bucking as Draco’s teeth gently grazed the bud.

Draco straightened, his own erection pressing painfully against his pants, and slowly gyrated his cock against Harry’s. Harry’s head hit the wall behind him as he groaned, pinching his eyes shut at the delicious friction. He could tell Harry was starting to get frustrated, sweat beading on his brow, a delightful flush creeping on his neck and chest, but Draco was going to savour this. He was going to take Harry apart and commit it all to memory, lest he never have it again.

Harry looked up at him with pupil-blown eyes, the green no longer distinguishable from the black and licked his hips. He moved his hands from Draco’s hair to fumble with Draco’s belt, but Draco grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the wall, without stopping the maddeningly slow rubbing of his cock against Harry’s, using his height as an advantage to pin Harry to the wall.

“Tell me about the Gala, Harry,” he said into Harry’s ear, before biting the lobe and then moving to kiss his jaw again.

“The Gala? Draco, what - ?”

Harry’s voice was strained, he was shuddering against Draco’s assault on his neck. He had turned his head away from Draco avoiding his eyes, but still meeting his thrusts and allowing further access of his neck to Draco. Seeing this, angered by the thought that Harry wouldn’t bring up Julian, or talk about the Gala, Draco removed his hold on one of Harry’s wrists and cupped his chin, rougher that he intended, bringing his attention back to Draco’s gaze.

“Tell me about Julian.”

Harry’s hips stopped thrusting abruptly, and he looked up at Draco, eyes narrowing into slits.

“There’s nothing to tell.” He said breathlessly, chest heaving. Draco couldn’t believe him – he had seen the Prophet, he had seen the picture proof. He bent his knees, grabbing Harry’s thighs roughly and pulled him up into his arms, Harry’s erection now pressing into Draco’s stomach, legs winding tightly around his waist. He moved them away from the wall, with every intention of moving towards the bedroom. Harry gyrated in his arms, his erection rubbing against Draco's chest, his hands tangling once more in Draco’s hair, thoroughly distracting him. Moving to the living room, he lowered Harry onto the plush couch. Harry didn’t untangle his legs, but tightened them, bringing Draco down with him and in closer. Their lips met, and Draco found he couldn’t stop kissing Harry. He kissed across his jaw, his cheeks, his nose, but he needed more. With great restraint he stopped kissing Harry and sat back, moving to remove Harry’s pants. Harry's arousal was straining against his briefs, the tell-tale wet-spot causing Draco to burn with desire, to reach out and palm his straining erection through his briefs. Harry tossed his head back, mouth falling open.

“You didn’t do this after the Gala, then?” He pulled Harry’s briefs off slowly, watching as his cock slapped against his toned stomach once free from the cruel constraints of his underwear. A glistening bead of pre-cum leaked from the tip of Harry’s cock, and Draco moved off the couch to kneel on the floor, looking up at Harry through his lashes Harry, darting his tongue out to lick the tip, chasing the taste. Harry writhed at the sudden sensation of Draco’s tongue on the head of his cock, Draco licking and suckling at the head and catching more pre-come on his tongue. “I thought you two were inseparable? He didn’t see you like this?”

He had the base of Harry’s length gripped tightly, running his tongue languidly from head to balls – savouring the way Harry was arching his back, the way his hands gripped at the throw on his couch, twisting it in his fingers.

“God, Draco, no,” Harry gasped out, “No one has seen me like this in _months_.”

Draco stopped his ministrations on Harry’s member, and knelt back on his calves, meeting Harry’s heated gaze.

“No one but you, Draco.”

Draco all but growled, hooked his arms under Harry’s knees and pulled him forward, before swallowing his length. Harry let out a dry sob, his back bowing beautifully. He began to suck hard, his cheeks hollowing with the suction, so pleased with Harry’s words, taking him as deep as he could go, his hand encasing the shaft that he couldn’t swallow. He continued to take Harry apart with his mouth on his cock, alternating but sucking the head, swallowing him to the hilt, licking his balls. Harry stopped twisting the throw to reach forward and to twist one hand in Draco’s hair, the other cupping his jaw gently.

Draco released Harry’s cock, slick and wet with his saliva, disarmed by the fond look Harry was giving him. He stood, and Harry sat up watching him keenly, his gaze unwavering as Draco removed his wand from his back pocket and set it down next to Harry, getting rid of his pants until he stood before him in his tight black briefs. Harry grabbed at his arse, massing the moulds of flesh and mouthing his erection through the black cotton of his underwear, eliciting a strangled cry from Draco as his dick twitched appreciatively. He pulled his underwear off hurriedly and allowed himself to be tugged down onto the couch by Harry, who crawled up his chest to kiss him deeply, purposely brushing their cocks together on the way up. One hand curled around Harry’s neck possessively, he reached down with the other to take them both tightly in his fist, moving his hand lazily, Harry's moan loud in his ears. Draco reached around blindly for his wand - he needed to be in Harry before he was too far gone. He quietly cast the cleaning, protection and lubrication spells before tossing his wand to the side again and reaching under Harry’s arms to pull him up so that he was kneeling in front pf Draco, erection bobbing at eye level. Draco took him in his mouth whilst reaching behind him, fingertips teasing at Harry’s entrance, appreciating the shiver that racked Harry’s body. He began to suck gently, pressing the flat of his tongue to the underside of Harry’s cock, fingers pressing into Harry, filling him and stretching him just as he knew Harry liked it, a teasing promise of what was to come. For the rest of his life if he wanted it.

 “Ah – Draco – I’m ready, please…” Harry’s voice broke as Draco’s fingers curled, hitting his prostate and causing his hips to buck, cock bobbing as Draco pulled off.

“Ride me, Harry, please,” He said voice slightly hoarse – which he loved. Harry smiled down at him, kissing him lightly before reaching behind himself to line Draco up with his entrance. Draco took himself in hand as Harry lifted himself to his knees, hands planted on Draco’s chest to steady himself as he sunk down on Draco, head thrown back and mouth a wide O. It was Draco’s turn to cry out as he was enveloped in the tight heat of Harry, his hole stretching to accommodate Draco’s girth, pulsing as Harry bottomed out. Draco’s hands flew to his hips, gripping them tightly despite the sheen of sweat that had Harry gleaming. They both sighed, satisfied, glad to be joined together once more.

Harry peered down at him, keeping his hands on Draco’s chest as he began to ride him. Draco’s hands circled his wrists, keeping them there in place on his chest, loving the pressure, Harry’s weight anchoring him.

“I can’t believe you thought – “ Harry began, stopping abruptly as Draco moved his hand to splay across his collarbone and tightening possessively, thrusting his own hips upward. “Idiot,” He said with no malice. It was his turn to nip at Draco’s jaw, alternating between bites and kisses, tongue swiping across his chest, lapping at his neck and collarbone. Harry's turn to own him.

Draco thrust up into Harry a few more times before deciding to flip them easily, craving Harry’s lips as he plunged back into him.

“So I shouldn’t be worried about Jovan then?” He accented Jovan’s name with a particular deep thrust and Harry cried out, gripping Draco’s shoulders painfully, shaking his head from side to side as if he didn’t trust his ability to speak.

“Henri?” Thrust. Harry’s head shook again, whimpering as Draco unrelentlessly pounded into him. Grabbing the backs of Harry’s thighs he bent him in half, then able to thrust deeper and kissing Harry, his tongue seeking Harry’s. He wanted, needed, Harry to feel him for days. The room filled with the sound of skin slapping, of panting and their names spilling from each other’s lips, a passionate prayer.

“I thought you knew – it’s just you,”

“Just me,” Draco repeated, grabbing leg and straightening to rest against his shoulder as he set a punishing pace, only slowing to lean back and watch himself disappear into Harry. “Say it.”

“Just – oh fuck – you” He knew he had hit Harry’s prostate as Harry’s hands flew back to the couch to latch on, his back and hips arched upward in a sinful curve, his stomach muscles fluttering.

“Draco,” he cried, scrambling to gain purchase on Draco’s forearms in warning. Draco grabbed Harry’s cock just in time – Harry clenched around him, coming in a shout, his come painting his chest.

Draco watched as Harry rode out his climax, shallowing and slowing his thrusts. He could feel the familiar heat of his own orgasm coil in his belly. Harry’s come splattered on his chest was tantalising, inviting him to taste, and he leant forward to lap it up, moaning when the familiar salty taste hit his tongue. He couldn't get enough.

“God your amazing… beautiful,” He spoke between licks, gathering as much of Harry’s release on his tongue before kissing him deeply. “And mine.”

Harry groaned at the taste of himself on Draco's tongue, eagerly accepting it. He then threw his hands around his neck, keeping him in a vice like hold as Draco sought his own release, picking up the pace of his thrusts and driving into Harry. Harry cupped his chin, tenderly kissing his lips softly and that's when he lost control, succumbing to his orgasm, letting it rush from him and coming thick and hard in Harry. He gasped for breath, sucking air into his lungs as Harry pushed his sweaty fringe away from his eyes.

He cracked open an eye to see Harry gazing at him intently, cheeks flushed and hair damp with sweat. He leant back, his softening cock slipping from Harry, an animalistic pride flared in his belly at seeing his come leak from Harry’s swollen entrance.

“You know, if I had known that being photographed with different men would have gotten you this worked up, I would have arranged for it _months ago…_ ”

“What,” Draco asked dumbly. “The night we started this… you didn’t want our friends to see us leave together, you thought they wouldn’t approve - ”

Harry made an indignant sound, sitting up and wrapping his toned legs around Draco encircle him and keep him close. “I didn’t want them to make a big deal of us before I knew what we were, you know what they’re like! I didn’t want to hide us… I thought that’s what _you_ wanted and I wanted you however you came. You know I’ve never thought much about what other people think…”

“Merlin,” Draco muttered, cursing his stupidity. He rested his forehead against Harry’s. “So this whole time I could have been wining and dining you… kissing you whenever… dancing with you at Galas in front of Swiss Ambassadors…”

“Mmmm,” Harry said in assent, grinning up at him. “We can do this again in my office, you know. I might invite The Daily Prophet, give them something factual about my love life to report?”  

Draco silenced his laughter with a kiss, no longer kissing him as if it were the last time. 


End file.
